


Stitches

by Sarah_Ellie



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Complete, Developing Relationship, M/M, Protective!Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:34:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Ellie/pseuds/Sarah_Ellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was supposed to be a normal night out turns violent when Q is attacked outside of a club. Bond finds out, and his protective side is revealed, along with a crush that he had been concealing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Un-Beta'd. Just kind of wrote as it came to me, so forgive me if this one is terrible.

"You're one of those fucking cocksuckers, aren't you?" The large man leered, looking down at Q. The man's face was mostly obscured by darkness, but Q recognized him. He had been staring while Q danced closely with an attractive blond, and he had followed Q outside when Q needed a smoke. Before he could reply, the man leveled a heavy blow to Q's rib cage with the toe of a boot. Q gasped and coughed, hands scraping against the broken glass and gravel on the pavement. He was assaulted by a second kick, this one cracking across his cheek. Q's mouth filled with blood. The kicks continued, landing on his shoulder and hip and stomach as he struggled to shield himself from the blows. 

"Can't even put up a fight, you twat." The man spat out. He reached down and pulled Q up by the collar of his leather jacket. His heavy hands pressed Q against the wall by the shoulders. Q tried to bite back a groan of pain as his head slammed against brick. The groan escaped, however, when he was kneed powerfully in the groin. 

Somewhere down the alley there was the sound of footsteps. To Q's keen ears, he knew it was probably a woman- very few men wore high-heeled boots to mainstream clubs- and he instantly wished that he had his gun on him. Not that he would shoot, not for one pathetic bully that had had one too many drinks and a slew of daddy issues, but so that he could threaten as if he would. If not for his sake, then at least for the sake of whomever was walking closer to them, unwittingly putting themselves in danger. 

Of course, Q had forgotten to factor idiocy into the equation. The man heard the footsteps, dropped Q, and hissed one last derogatory insult towards him before jogging off around the other side of the building. Q closed his eyes and took a breath. 

"Q? What the hell happened?" Moneypenny ran the last few feet between them, her heels clicking loudly in the quiet night. 

"Just some asshole." Q murmured, wiping at his face. Even in the darkness he could see the blood on his fingers, mixing with dirt and grime. 

"Come on." Moneypenny said, reaching her arm out. "Let's get you taken care of."

\- - - 

Getting Q _taken care of_ included a trip back to headquarters so that Q could visit medical. 

"I'm not technically wounded from a mission." Q muttered to Moneypenny as they walked down the crisp white hallway that led to their version of reception. 

"You also technically don't exist for the duration of your employment at MI6." Moneypenny said. "How exactly were you going to explain your lack of name, residence, or any other quantifying information?"

"I'm bleeding from the face. I didn't think that far." Q snapped as they walked through a last set of double doors. The room opened up with a desk in the shape of a semi-circle on their right, some chairs, and doorways to numerous rooms lining the walls. Moneypenny picked up a tablet from the desk and began to plug in a series of numbers. She set it back down, and within minutes a nurse appeared to take Q to an examination room. 

Just as Q had gotten to his feet, the double doors flew open. The nurse looked up, and instantly began to type in a series of codes into a device on her hip. 

James Bond stood by the counter, blood seeping through his shirt at the abdomen. His right hand was clasped over his left bicep, which was also bleeding profusely. His suit jacket was secured in the crook of his arm. A grimace flashed across his face as he took a step with his right leg, and there was a cut that curled from the center of his lower lip down towards his chin. 

"Christ, James." Moneypenny said, looking the agent over. Q said nothing, merely stood awkwardly as he took in the sight of a very battered Bond in front of him. 

"All in a day's work, Moneypeny." Bond said with a small smile. "I just need some help with the stitches." His eyes settled on Q. After a few moments, his eyes began to flash from the bruise blooming across Q's face to the blood on his hands and the tears in his jeans. 

"What happened?" Bond asked, his tone instantly murderous. 

"Nothing. I just need to get cleaned up a bit." Q said defensively. 

"Doesn't look like nothing." Bond said, limping forward. 

"Says the man who currently has more blood outside of his body than in it." Q replied with one eyebrow raised. 

A pager went off. Bond and Q looked at the nurse expectantly, but instead Moneypenny pulled her phone out of her pocket and activated the screen. Her brows furrowed. 

"I have to go." She said, turning to Q. "Will you be alright." 

"I'll be fine, Moneypenny. You worry too much." Q said, allowing himself to be wrapped in a hug. She turned and gave Bond a good-natured punch to his uninjured shoulder and then walked quickly out of medical, casting an uncertain glance over her shoulder before the doors closed behind her. 

Moments later three more nurses entered the room wheeling a cart. They turned into one of the exam rooms and the nurse that had been standing with them looked at Bond expectantly. 

"He was here first." Bond said, gesturing to Q. "Take care of him." 

"His injuries aren't as serious as yours are." The nurse said, clearly irritated. "Please just go into the exam room, 007." 

"No." Bond said. 

"Sir, do I need to remind you that you are at risk to catch any number of infections when sustaining injuries of your caliber-"

"Q first." Bond repeated. 

"Oh for the love of- it's just a few scratches!" Q argued. 

"Both of you then, come on." The nurse said tiredly. Her day had been rather long, and it wasn't the first time in her career that she had been made to tangle with a stubborn double-oh agent. 

\- - - 

"Will you please tell me what's happened now?" Bond asked as they walked out into the wet London evening. Q's injuries had been taken care of in short order, as he had only had the nurses attend to the cut on his cheek. However a quick look from Bond had ensured that he stayed for an extra half hour while they cared for the agent as well. 

"Just got myself into a bit of a scrape, is all." Q sighed. He reached into his coat and pulled a cigarette from his pack. It had been hours since he had first gone out for a smoke, and he didn't think he could wait another minute. He lit up and took a deep drag. "Moneypenny dragged me out to some club, and I suppose my choice in partners raised a few eyebrows. I went out for a smoke, some bloke must have followed me out, called me a cocksucker and knocked me down before I could really do much about it."

"I see." Bond said quietly. 

They walked until they reached Bond's flat, which was only a few blocks from headquarters. Initially, Q was relieved- he had a feeling that Bond was going to insist on walking him home, when really he just wanted to collapse into a cab and call the entire evening a wash. But Bond paused at the door just as he slid the key into the lock, and turned around. 

"You should come in. Have a drink."

"It's getting late, Bond. I really should go." 

The flicker of disappointment on Bond's face was what changed Q's mind. Not that the disappointment itself was motivation for Q- he was of the mind that the double-ohs got what they wanted far too often than was perfect healthy. No, it was the fact that he had _seen_ the disappointment that reminded him that Bond had just returned from a two-week mission in Pakistan, and perhaps wasn't ready to stare at his own walls by himself just yet. 

"What the hell, I guess there's no harm." Q amended. He followed Bond into the darkened flat, and was surprised to find the place furnished when the lights were flicked on. 

"What'll it be?" Bond asked, walking straight to a drink cart in the corner of the main room. He turned two glasses upright and looked back at Q expectantly. It was then that Q noticed that Bond's hands were shaking slightly. Adrenaline.

"Scotch and soda, if you've got it." Q said, trying to conceal the look of concern that was rising to his face. 

"Alright then." Bond replied. He looked away from Q quickly before heading towards the kitchen. 

\- - -

They weren't drunk, but they were certainly getting there. 

It had been two hours, and there was no way to tell how many drinks they had had between them. Q was seated on the far side of the couch, shoes off and coat set aside. He leaned back carefully against the cushions, trying not to show how painfully his body had begun to hurt. Meanwhile, Bond had tossed off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. The shirt was still covered in gore, but he didn't seem to care. 

"I'm glad that the trackers worked." Q said in response to a story that Bond had just finished telling. 

"Bloody brilliant, putting them in bullets." Bond said with a fond smile. 

"I'm hoping to figure out a way to better differentiate between the signals." Q said, taking another sip from his glass. "It worked well this time because you were shooting at one person. If you were shooting more it could have been a problem."

"Looking forward to it." Bond said, clapping Q on the shoulder. 

Q couldn't help the grunt of pain that escaped him. He hadn't been expecting Bond's touch. 

Instantly the agent was on his knees in front of Q, looking up with a mixture of anger and concern. 

"Let me see." Bond demanded. 

"This is harassment." Q replied, rolling his eyes.

"You know very well that it isn't." Bond said, bracing his arms on either side of Q's legs. "Now please, show me." 

With a sigh, Q got to his feet. Bond moved with him, watching closely as Q lifted the shirt over his head with a series of winces. 

"Fuck." Bond swore as he stepped forward. He gingerly traced his fingers along the edges of the bruises that covered Q's chest, stomach, and shoulders. "You said it was a bit of a scrape."

"I didn't exactly come out on the winning side." Q explained, shifting awkwardly. 

"Some of these are bleeding." Bond said, looking at Q's back. "Come on." 

Bond led Q into the bathroom off of his bedroom and took out a washcloth, which he wet with warm water and soap before carefully wiping away the blood from Q's cuts. Q closed his eyes and relished in the warm, careful touches that Bond trailed down his back and hips. Internally, he cursed his libido. He hadn't had a chance to do.. well... anything, since his appointment at MI6. On the rare nights he did make it out, he chased after poor facsimiles of a certain tall, blond agent that he was always looking after. Now that he was standing in the bathroom of the Real Thing, partially intoxicated, it was taking everything he had to keep himself together. 

"All done." Bond said after a few minutes. His voice snapped Q from his internal monologue. He looked up and glanced at Bond through the mirror in front of him. The agent wasn't looking back, however. His eyes were cast downwards, staring at Q's back with a new expression on his face. 

Q turned around carefully in an attempt to hide his partial arousal. He looked at Bond, who stared back. 

"It's late." Q said. "I'll need to get a cab." 

Bond nodded and took a step away from Q. He led the way out of the bathroom but paused in his bedroom. He unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Two thick bandages were plastered to his skin; one at his abdomen, the other on his arm. Bond rooted through his closet and pulled out another, nearly identical shirt, and pulled it on. 

"I can drive you home." He offered, buttoning up the shirt. 

"No really, Bond. It's okay." Q said, turning away. He was startled to find Bond's hand on his wrist, holding him still. 

"Please, let me...." Bond whispered. Once again, he looked at Q's body. This time, he didn't hide it. 

"What do you really want, Bond?" Q asked, turning back. 

There was silence, and Q began to think that he had made a terrible mistake, when Bond smiled slightly. 

"You." He said, running a hand through his hair. 

"Me." Q repeated. 

"Subtlety isn't my specialty when it comes to this sort of thing, Q." Bond said. 

"Said the secret agent." Q rolled his eyes. 

"There's more to me than just the agent." Bond said, gently pulling Q towards him. 

"Whatever you say, James." Q replied. 

Instantly, Bond's lips were on his, warm and careful but somehow still urgent. Q kissed back needily; leaning into the hands that caressed his back. 

Bond took a step back, leading Q towards the bed. He pulled away from the kiss for a moment, looking at Q as if he expected him to refuse to go, much like Q had been doing all night. 

Instead, Q followed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-Beta'd and written under illness and sleep deprivation. I hope you enjoy regardless!
> 
> Also, this is essentially pure smut.

Bond pulled Q into his lap, carefully supporting the battered younger man by the hips as he kissed him. Q’s hands tangled in Bond’s short hair and trailed down the well-defined muscles of the agent’s back. He could feel the scars that puckered under his calloused fingertips, and it made him grip harder as Bond licked into the heat of Q’s mouth. Q’s hand trailed down his chest, unbuttoning the shirt that Bond had just put on and pushing it off of his shoulders. He could feel the length of Bond’s cock against the inside of his thigh, and he pressed down into it as he felt Bond’s tongue press behind his teeth. 

Slowly, Bond shifted so that he and Q were lying on the bed. Propped up on one arm, Q looked down and leaned in to trail a series of gentle bites down Bond’s shoulder. While he worked, Bond reached down and loosened Q’s trousers before pushing them down his legs. He froze for a moment, taking in the new series of bruises on Q’s legs. 

The body beneath Q tensed. Softly, Q began to stroke his fingers up the opposite side of Bond’s neck while he switched from bites to tonguing kisses across his chest. Bond responded with a hum of approval, and lifted his hand to Q’s chin so that he could redirect Q’s gaze upward. They kissed, Bond carefully avoiding putting pressure on the damaged side of Q’s face, and Bond carefully rolled himself so that he was the one on top. 

Carefully, Q extricated himself from his pants. His cock was thick and hard against his stomach. Bond reached for it automatically, running his hands from the shaft to the tip and down again. 

Q groaned and reached for Bond’s trousers, which he unfastened speedily. The muscles in Bond’s one arm were tense as he held himself over Q so that he could kick off his pants, and the last stitch of clothing between them was gone. Bond pulled his knees up underneath his body and continued to run his hand up the length of Q’s cock. 

Instantly, Q dug his fingers into Bond’s hips and tried to pull the man down against him. He was surprised when Bond didn’t relent to his touch, and instead looked down in concern. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He whispered, pressing his lips close to Q’s ear. 

“That’s not… You don’t need to worry about that.” Q said, shaking a bit of hair out of his eyes. His brows furrowed in confusion.

“You’re a canvas of bruises.” Bond argued. He leaned in closer to Q, but didn’t press himself against the Quartermaster. 

“You do realize how sex works, right? You’re going to have to touch me.” Q said, propping himself up on his elbows. “Unless you’ve got some weird preferences that I’m unaware of.” 

“You know, I don’t think you’re as clever as they keep giving you credit for.” Bond said with a small chuckle. “Who says I intended to fuck _you_?”

With that, Bond reached over to his side table and pulled back a bottle of lubricant. He handed it to Q, and lay down next to him. He reached over to Q and took his hand, placing it between his legs suggestively. 

With blood pumping loudly in his ears, Q turned on his side and took the bottle from Bond so that he could slick his fingers. He was surprised by the way that Bond tucked his ankles up hear his ass and let his knees fall open, leaving himself exposed to Q. 

Q didn’t waste much time as he pressed a finger into Bond up to the first knuckle. He felt tightness envelop him, and Bond let out a faint hiss before he willed his body to relax. From there, Q was able to work his fingers into Bond while he propped his chin on Bond’s knee- one arm wrapped around his thigh to run along Bond’s cock. 

Not wanting to be overly presumptuous, Q waited until Bond was writhing beneath him to run the lube along his cock and press against Bond. 

“Are you-“ Q began, but he was cut off by Bond’s exuberant nodding.

Q pressed forward, sinking halfway into Bond’s heat for a moment to allow the man to adjust before he pressed the rest of the way in. He froze for a moment, a hundred little pinpricks of ecstasy building at the base of Q’s spine, and then he began to move. 

He started slowly at first, but as Bond began to buck his hips in time with Q’s movements, his pace quickened. Once Q had found Bond’s prostate, he concentrated on hitting it while he ran his hand, which he had coated in lubricant, up and down Bond’s cock. 

The rhythmic thrusts that Bond had been making became erratic. He groaned, and lifted himself slightly off the bed as Q gave a particularly deep thrust. 

Soon, Bond was coming over Q’s hand, sticky warmth splashing over his chest and stomach. Bond sank onto the bed and began to roll his hips suggestively to coax Q’s own orgasm forward. Q leaned forward with his arms on either side of Bond’s chest and began to thrust in earnest. He came with a low gasp that seemed to roll down the length of his spine. 

Carefully, Q pulled out of Bond, who was wiping the mess off of his skin with his discarded briefs. He held one arm open for Q to crawl up into, and he wrapped himself protectively around Q as they settled in to sleep. 

“How do you feel?” Bond asked Q in the darkness. Q took a deep breath.

“I feel good, James.” He replied. 

“I don’t mean like that. How’re your bruises? The cut on your cheek?” Bond asked. If it hadn’t been for the measurable concern in his voice, Q would have shrugged it off. 

“It’ll be fine.” He said, shifting a little. “It’s nothing that won’t heal in time. I’m just embarrassed, is all.”

“Why?” Bond asked, although he suspected that he knew the answer. 

“I’m supposed to be one of the smartest men in the city, that’s why MI6 hired me. But I couldn’t even avoid getting my bloody arse kicked by some drunken shithead.” Q said with a sigh. It wasn’t exactly the post-coital conversation that he had wanted, but then again, what he really wanted to do was go the hell to sleep. 

“Sometimes it just doesn’t matter what we’re supposed to be. People can still one-up us if we aren’t prepared.” Bond said quietly. “And besides, how were you supposed to know that some putz was going to attack you outside of a club? It’s not like you were wandering into enemy territory.”

“I suppose it’s easy to forget that regular people can be just as awful as those villains we’re always sending you after.” Q joked, curling close to Bond’s body. 

“The villains, as you so call them, are regular people, Q. Just like we’re regular people. We all have incredible capabilities to be cruel and devastating to one another. You and I aren’t exempt from that, you know.”

“And here I thought we were heroes.” Q mumbled, his brain turned fuzzy by the mix of alcohol, exhaustion, and too many thoughts crowding into the space inside of his skull. 

Bond chuckled and gave Q’s hand a gentle squeeze. 

“I don’t think the line is quite that distinct.” He said, glancing down.

**Author's Note:**

> Smut to follow, so check back if interested!


End file.
